Category: Sparrow Chat

With winter rapidly approaching – at least in the Northern Hemisphere – I was reminded of a certain time some years back when driving a school bus could be an even more precarious occupation than usual. Thirty-odd noses were capable of emitting vast numbers of microbes, and all aimed at the poor driver upfront.

One such occasion saw me out of action for the best part of a week; too sick to even post on Sparrow Chat. And it was all down, of course, to one of the Roberts boys.

ALL FOR THE WANT OF A HANDKERCHIEF. ^{(Circa 2007)}

Regular readers of Sparrow Chat may have been perplexed of late by the lack of posts. It’s the winter holiday season in America, and that means high season for germs. When Sparrow Chat’s files succumbed recently to a digitized virus, so did its administrator – though, to the more conventional form of the microbe.

One major drawback to School Bus 13 is that it’s packed with little germbags. At this time of year, most of the kids are sniffing. Moms today seem disinclined to provide their offspring with any means of wiping noses, so the early morning bus stop reveals a vista of small urchins, hands a’pocket, and snotty green growths hanging precariously from urchin nostrils.

The family Roberts is no exception. With the possible exception of Cordell Roberts, the older boys are not terribly interested in Oakley Canton or any other female student riding the bus, but they still make an effort with their appearance, presumably hoping a real dazzler may one day board and provide them with another interest in life besides beating each other up. Consequently, though sleeve cuffs bear witness to the method of cleansing, older noses are relatively snot free.

The younger Roberts’ boys, Azariah and Izaiah, are not so particular. Azariah is prone to temper tantrums and anger management problems, both of which can prove particularly infecting of the rest of us whenever he has a cold virus – a permanent affliction, it seems, at this time of year.

Only a couple of weeks back, Cordell Roberts stole a piece of candy from Azariah, whereupon, unable to control his rage at such brotherly intrusion, the first-grader leapt from his seat and rushed up the aisle, red-faced, spouting tears and green pus from every facial orifice – or, so it seemed.

Finally arriving alongside the driver’s chair, and finding himself with nowhere else to go, he bent low at the knees before launching himself upright and emitting a roar of fury that would have done credit to an African lion who’d just discovered a hyena had run off with his antelope sandwiches. The effect of this vocal contortion was to spray enormous quantities of Azariah’s bodily excretions all over the bus dashboard, steering wheel, and control knobs.

All of which resulted in Azariah being ‘written up’ for leaving his seat, Cordell – for pinching candy, the driver coughing and sneezing for the next fortnight, and, as a consequence, a serious lack of posts on Sparrow Chat.

I’m happy to report that updates to Mrs R J’s condition can now be accessed via the menu at the top of each page, both on home/laptop computers and also smartphones.

Meanwhile, yet another chapter in the daily life of an English school bus driver in America –

The journey home from school today was not a bus driver’s success story. All four of the younger Roberts kids were back after a three day detention for misbehaving in school.

Jethro Roberts, the eldest, and Izaiah – who suffers from anger management problems – sit opposite the driver; Treanna, their sister, sits behind the driver, and little Azariah – with chipmunk agility and a shorter attention span than any amoeba – is squeezed in between two fifth graders with orders to sit on him, if necessary, rather than let him out of his seat.

The root of the troubles had nothing whatever to do with the Roberts family. Sharreta Robinson, a pleasant, friendly, girl who sits near the back of the bus, and a fifth grade boy, Keyshawn Attwell, a friend of Jethro’s, had been engaged in shy conversation at every given opportunity for the last three days. Keyshawn was new to the bus, and the driver was quick to notice a relationship developing between the two.

It made a pleasant change to see two kids enjoying each other’s company. Usually, the bus reverberated with continual bickering and name-calling, occasionally erupting into more serious fistycuffs, so he was happy to turn a blind eye when Sharetta Robinson slipped across the bus aisle to a vacant seat behind Keyshawn, better to hear what he was saying above the cacophony of thirty-eight, over-excited, voices.

No doubt all would have been well had not Kaitlin Sanders, a plump and loud-mouthed sixth grade girl sitting across from Jethro Roberts, not also had her eye on Keyshawn. Sharreta’s illegal move to another seat was not lost on Kaitlin, who immediately began making loud, disparaging, remarks about Jethro’s parentage, for no better purpose than to gain Keyshawn’s attention.

Jethro Roberts, of course, responded by calling Kaitlin a “fat, lying, bitch,” whereupon the two ended up in the aisle, arms flailing, and emitting language never heard in a church vestry.

The driver’s reaction was to stop the bus, separate the two, then charge up and down the aisle, much like the proverbial bull in a china shop, yelling at the remaining thirty-six kids to settle back down in their seats before they all got referrals.

The Roberts family alighted at the next stop, as did Keyshawn. Jethro Roberts still muttered to himself on the injustice of getting a referral for no more than defending his honor, and the meanness of school bus drivers in general.

Kaitlin Sanders sulked for the rest of the journey, knowing her referral meant she would miss the next school field trip. Both she and Sharreta left the bus at the final stop.

The driver watched as the two girls walked away up the street, arm in arm, laughing and joking about nothing in particular.

“Huh! So much for young love,” he thought.

Some readers are already aware that Mrs R J has been diagnosed with cancer and is undergoing treatment. Chemotherapy is never pleasant, and usually hell on earth for those unfortunate enough to suffer it. Consequently, it’s difficult for me to find the time to write very much, and of late Sparrow Chat has been sadly lacking fresh material.

I’ve decided to have an update of my wife’s progress at the top of the sidebar (except for cellphone users, I’m afraid, who presently have no sidebar but we’re working to rectify that). Meanwhile, dredging through old files recently I came across a collection of bloggings, some so ancient Methuselah may have read them. I will sort a few that might still have relevance and post them from time to time, in the hope they may prove of interest.

While living in America I drove a school bus for six years. It was an eye-opening experience. The route was considered one of the worst at the depot, transporting grade school kids from the most deprived areas in the town. Over those six years I watched some of them grow from five year olds to age eleven, when they left for the local junior high. They were a rag-tag bunch, but I grew to love them all. Well, most of ’em!

It was my intention to write a book about those years, but it was not to be and now the memories have become too distant for recall. All I have left is a few notes. So I’ll begin with them.

THE SAGA OF SCHOOL BUS 13.

School’s back on Monday. The Thanksgiving holiday is almost over and the Roberts kids will be returning once more to their educational facility. The Roberts’ had an extended vacation – at least from the school bus. Seven out of the nine Roberts kids were barred from riding the bus for the week prior to Thanksgiving, due to antisocial activities that included fighting and creating a mass disturbance. It resulted in the driver returning his load of kids to their school, rather than home to the welcoming parents who expected them.

Not that the other kids on the bus are total innocents. Nicholas Lilly, a third-grade, suffered a blacked eye only last week when his best friend, Quinton Long, suddenly decided he was no longer Nicholas’ friend, and laid into him with vigor. The resulting bruises earned Quinton a three day bus suspension and a threat from his irate Mom to “black more than your eye if you ever do that again!”

The last time Quinton had a bus suspension was when he uttered a four letter word. It all happened in a vain attempt to make his brother shut up. I felt sympathy for Quinton on that occasion. He shared a seat with his younger sibling, Malcolm, who was nowhere near the voice-breaking stage, and prone to long outbursts of high-pitched gibberish, apparently meant to convey disapproval of some minor infringement of his rights by another student on the bus. By the time Malcolm had been quieted sufficient to interpret his long-winded, and ear-piercing complaints, he’d forgotten whom it was he was originally attempting to incriminate.

Nevertheless, Quinton’s ‘F-word’ eruption earned him a ‘bus referral’, later followed by a mouthful of carbolic soap forcefully inserted by his mother in an effort to cleanse her eight-year-old of his unsavory taste in language.

Oakley Canton will be on the bus Monday, complete with her over-abundance of hormones. Fifth-grade girls can be a problem, particularly when fifth and sixth-grade boys are riding the yellow school bus. Oakley’s a nice enough girl, but like most on Bus 13, she hails from the poorer areas of the town. Consequently, her fashion sense – something never terribly mature among young, black female, minors – lacks a certain sophistication. Oakley’s tight skirt and high heels don’t assist her to mount the three steps onto the bus with any degree of alacrity. Once inside, she’ll sway one way, then the other, on her way down the aisle to her seat, ensuring any eligible young male receives a portion of her ample backside in his face as she passes by.

The most startling aspect of eleven year old Oakley’s appearance is not her enormous gold earrings, nor the six inch heels on which she teeters precariously to her seat. Neither is it the hip length mini-skirt, or multitude of brightly-colored plastic dangly bits hanging from a hair-style whose creation must surely have kept her up all night. Oakley’s pièce de résistance is her brassiere, a work of art that must surely contain the innards of one of her mother’s settee cushions. Oakley stands out in true Marilyn Munroe fashion, though sadly it could all shrink alarmingly if her mother ever demands her cushion back.

The latest male to light Oakley’s hormonal fire is one of the Roberts’ boys. Last Monday, Cordell Roberts, blind to all but Oakley’s buttocks swirling past his face, was quick to plant a punch on his younger brother, Jethro, when the poor lad happened to call her a “stupid bitch” after one of Oakley’s six inch heels mangled his toe as she sashayed past him on the way to her seat.

The resulting melee caused the irate bus driver to divert from his route and return the bus load of punch-drunk, pre-pubescent, hooligans to the school they had recently vacated. Consequently, the Principal had an apoplectic fit, and banned all the Robert’s boys from riding the bus for the remainder of the week.

Peace returned to Bus 13, though Quinton Long still looked daggers at Nicholas Lilly from across the aisle, and Oakley Canton, no interest in any other male but Cordell, sat and stared out the window with an air of total boredom, her bosoms sagging somewhat with the lateness of the day.

Still, nothing lasts forever, and the Roberts kids will be back on Monday.